


An Autumn 'Twas

by harlequinjane



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequinjane/pseuds/harlequinjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For his bounty,<br/>There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas<br/>That grew the more by reaping.<br/>-Antony and Cleopatra (5.2.82)</p><p>When announcement of a detective inspector being attacked hits the headlines Phryne Fisher's world is thrown into tumult. She begins to understand what Jack felt when he thought she was behind that wheel.<br/>Inspired by Blood at the Wheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Autumn 'Twas

When Jack Robinson lay on the cold ground outside the police station bleeding out he wasn’t in pain. In fact, he could barely feel a thing above a low throbbing. His hands were clasped over his stomach, rivulets of surprisingly warm liquid seeping over his fingers. The stars stared down at him and he stared back until Hugh’s face obscured his view. His hands were taken off and a sudden pressure bore down on his stomach. A pained grunt escaped.

“Stay with me sir!” Hugh’s tone was panicked and Jack couldn’t figure out why. He was fine. It was nothing. Jack blinked back up at the stars. The black of the sky, the white of the stars and their dazzling sparkle reminded him of something, someone, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made him smile nonetheless. Yes, he was fine. Even as blackness seeped into his vision and Hugh’s voice faded he was fine.

 

* * *

 Phryne Fisher stretched languorously. A smug smile spread across her face as she registered the warmth pressed alongside her. Her hand reached out and she dragged a slow finger down the bare back next to her. With a chuckle she gave his bare rear a cheeky pinch. The man grunted in response but remained deep in his slumber. Phryne pouted. She sat up, intent on waking her companion to continue where they had left off last night. Just as she had thrown her leg over his and began to press her lips up his spine, a fervent knocking interrupted.

“Miss! Miss! Miss!” Dottie’s voice came through the door sounding more distressed than Phryne had ever heard her. She got up, slipped on a discarded silk robe and opened the door.

Dottie waited for her at the door clutching a newspaper to her chest. The poor girl looked wretched and hadn’t even changed out of her nightclothes. She led Phryne downstairs into the kitchen where Mr Butler stood by the sink. He stared out of the window whilst he towelled a glass in an absent minded manner. He didn’t even notice her entrance.

“Whatever is the matter Dottie?” Phryne asked her head turning from Mr Butler to her companion as she sat down at the head of the table. Dottie laid out the newspaper in front of her and stood back. Her hands were clasped and her head was bowed. Phryne looked to Mr Butler and then looked to the newspaper. Emblazoned across the front was a declaration of a stabbing outside the South City office. Phryne picked it up.

“Last night a detective inspector was wounded outside the South City police office. Jack?” Phryne glanced up in alarm. Dottie removed a handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket and dabbed it to her face. She nodded. Phryne continued, “Current status unknown. Mr Butler, pull the car around.” Mr Butler startled. He nodded and immediately left the kitchen, “Dot get changed. We’re going to the police station.”

Both women raced out of the kitchen and to their respective rooms. Phryne, upon reaching her bedroom, threw aside her silk robe and began to rummage about for underwear. There was a groan from the bed. She yelped. The man from last night had been completely forgotten with the news of Jack. She shook her head and slipped into some lingerie from her drawer then disappeared behind the changing screen to change. The man muttered something in a very playful tone but Phryne barely registered his words. Her entire mind was focussed on Jack Robinson. Finally changed she headed out from behind the screen and straight to the door. Without even looking at the confused man on her bed she left the room and made for the front door. Mr Butler and Dottie waited for her there with Dottie as hastily dressed as Phryne. Although Mr Butler’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly he didn’t mention the outfit that bordered on mismatched and the entire lack of make-up. Instead he dropped the keys into Miss Fisher’s already hovering hand.

“I shall ensure your guest has a hearty breakfast before he leaves Miss Fisher.” He said but the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was already stalking out of the door her face set. Dottie followed suit thinking that Miss Fisher looked for all the world like she’d burn it down if someone came between her and Jack Robinson.

 

* * *

So this is what he felt when he had thought it was me behind that wheel, Phryne thought as she pulled up to the South City police station. The entrance was busy with reporters banging at the doors. Dottie made to get out of the car ready to push her way through and get into the station but Phryne tightened her hands around the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. She had forgotten her driving gloves, she noted faintly through the fog in her brain.

“Miss?” Dottie asked laying a comforting hand on her arm. Phryne blinked, shook her head to try and clear the cotton from her mind. A knock on the window of the driver made them both jump. Hugh Collins stood outside the car with a hand raised. There was blood around his fingernails. Phryne motioned for him to get in and he clambered into the back.

“I thought you’d come here Miss Fisher.”

“Is he alright?” She didn’t even bother with the pleasantries. Instead she pulled away from the curb before Hugh had even closed the door. He scrambled to close the door. The poor man gulped and paled at the question. He looked down at his hands. Blood still collected around his fingernails even though he had scrubbed as hard as he could in the bathroom. Hugh had only returned to give his statement and wait for Miss Fisher. He knew she’d come as soon as she read it, he was just sorry she had to hear through a newspaper.

“Hugh!” Dottie’s voice cut through his distressed musings. Without looking up from his hands, still remembering what it felt to have Jack’s blood all over them, he muttered the hospital name.

“Is he alive? Is Jack alive?” Phryne barked. The car began to speed through the streets. If Phryne’s driving had been erratic before now it was downright frenetic. Dottie clasped her hands together but said nothing. Hugh also kept his silence although his fingers scratched at his hands, trying to scrape off the feel of blood.

The rest of the journey was made in silence until they screeched to a halt in front of the hospital. Hugh stumbled out immediately, ran to a nearby potted tree and emptied the contents of his stomach into the pot. Dottie hastened to his side. Soothing circles were rubbed into his back until he nodded. She turned to the car only to find it abandoned, parked haphazardly and the driver’s door flung open. Phryne had already flown inside.

 

It hadn’t taken much deducing to find Jack’s room. A policeman stood outside the door with his arms behind his back and a serious expression. The policeman looked familiar, a regular in the South City office she thought. When she almost bumped into him trying to stop her own hurried pace he grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. One look down at her widened eyes and the flicker of recognition in his own had him stepping aside without a word.

The nature of the case had granted Jack a private room, in which there was a bed, a bedside table, a chest of drawers with a mirror on top and a chair. In the chair Rosie Sanderson sat, her head in her hands. Upon the door bursting open she jumped in her seat and stared as Phryne whirled in only to come to an abrupt halt halfway to the bed. The pair stared at each other for a few moments. Rosie sighed and allowed a tired smile to briefly grace her face. She slumped back into her chair.

“I expected you hours ago Miss Fisher.” Her tone was much more pleasant than it had been the last time they had spoken. For a moment Phryne didn’t quite know how to react. Luckily she was saved from trying to offer a politeness when Rosie continued, “I’m still his next of kin. We haven’t changed it yet. I’m glad you’re here. I’m sure he’d much rather to see you than me when he wakes up. He’ll be fine.” She added when Phryne didn't move.

All at once all of the fear escaped Phryne’s body in a loud exhale. She made the final few steps to Jack’s bedside. She sat, perched on the edge, leant over and raked a hand through his hair, staring down at his peaceful, unmarred face. Slowly, slowly, the tight knot in her stomach began to unfurl and the faint nausea she’d been feeling since reading the newspaper dissipated, “what happened? The newspaper didn’t specify.” She didn't grace Rosie with a glance. There was no earthly way she could have brought herself to tear her eyes from Jack, looking just like was sleeping.

“He was stabbed.” Hugh answered from the doorway. Rosie smiled at him and stood. She turned her head towards the couple on the hospital bed. Seeing Phryne’s hand playing with her ex-husband’s hair and the other slowly curling around her ex-husband’s fingers Rosie knew who should have been called first and it wasn’t her. Nodding with an odd air of finality she left the hospital room, patting the confused constable’s arm on the way out.

“Do we know who did it?” Phryne didn’t notice Rosie’s exit. She shifted on the bed to get into a more comfortable position, never once stopping in her ministrations or attention. The tidal wave of emotion she had felt upon reading the newspaper had frightened her in its intensity. One of the many reasons she never got attached was to avoid such intense emotions, hard to handle and messy emotions. For so long she had been pretending that she wasn’t so far gone on her detective but today had put that to rest. There was no avoiding the sheer terror and devastation she had felt even at the vague notion Jack had been hurt.

“The wife of a murderer Jack arrested recently. She’ll join her husband in the gallows.” Targeting a police officer, especially a detective inspector, had serious repercussions. Phryne felt a grim satisfaction at the punishment. Finally she looked up from Jack to see Hugh hovering in the doorway. The poor man looked drawn and haunted. His fingers were still gently scratching at his nails.

“Hugh, ask Dottie to come in then take her back to the house and have Mr Butler draw you a bath.”

* * *

Jack Robinson had never felt worse in his life. His stomach throbbed and stung at every moment but it wasn’t the pain that had awakened him. No, the smell of a familiar French perfume floated around his nose tantalisingly. With a groan he heaved open his eyes. There was a sudden dip in his mattress. He turned his head. A vision greeted him. The beautiful Phryne Fisher beamed down at him looking slightly dishevelled but still the most wondrous sight he could imagine waking up to.

“Well, well, well Jack, you sure know how to scare a girl.” Behind the more obvious teasing there seemed to be a real concern and Jack couldn't help but give a slight quirk of his lips.

“I like to keep you on your toes Miss Fisher. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.” Another beautiful aroma hit his nose, quite unlike the perfume, as Phryne reached to the basket on the bedside table and opened it.

“Oh I’d never get bored with you. Dot’s wonderful chicken soup.” She announced and presented a bowl with a flourish. Jack moved to take the bowl but Phryne dragged it out of reach, standing to rummage around in the basket again for the spoon. When he had settled back in, happy just to drink her in for now, look at her as much as he could, she sat back down, closer to him, dipped the spoon in and held it in front of his mouth. For a few seconds he looked at the spoon before he opened his mouth. The chicken soup slid down his throat as wonderful as always.

“You best be careful Miss Fisher, I’ll get too used to this before you leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I am no historian so my story is seriously lacking in any kind of detail and for that I apologise.  
> I am also no medic but I suspect you can't really eat after an abdominal wound and a quick internet search showed that IV drips weren't used until the 1950s. So soup was my middle ground.
> 
> The quote from Antony and Cleopatra was picked because Antony and Cleopatra seems to be their thing and the quote is Cleopatra allowing herself to express her true feelings for Antony. I felt it fit.


End file.
